


Leave 'Em Hanging

by rex_sun



Category: Gravitation, Hikaru no Go
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rex_sun/pseuds/rex_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hikaru dumps Akira at a popstar's party, damn him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave 'Em Hanging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elarielf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elarielf/gifts).



> A friend wrote me birthday fic, then told me about the fic she didn't write. So I wrote that fic instead. For teh lulz.

Okay, Akira concedes. When they are side by side it’s kind of obvious that they are related. And it’s not even in the face—they only have a facial resemblance if you squint—one is most definitely, undeniably male and the other is a pop star—but there is absolutely no explanation for two young men both by the name of Shindo to have such ludicrous hairstyles on top of wearing the most obnoxiously glaring orange clothing in existence EXCEPT blood relation. Nope. None. So, yes, the watering of Akira’s eyeballs from overexposure to a too-intense concentration of clashing colors tells Akira that Shindo Shuichi really is Shindo Hikaru’s cousin. Huh.

That, and their laughs. He can hear them over the music, and that really is saying something, because apparently musicians like to play music extra super loud at their parties. Akira shifts uncomfortably as the nth random person brushes against his back and wonders how politely he can manage to somehow cover his ears and whether or not he should bother, seeing as this torture is all in the machinations of a man named Shindo. But really, no one should be bumping into him. They are in a warehouse. No, literally, a warehouse. As in, Shindo—the one named Hikaru—had lead him through an industrial district and up to a previously-abandoned warehouse that had, apparently, been converted by—who knows, someone both rich and crazy—into a party house. (The bass had snuck up on Akira before the music could even be heard.) Right, so—no one should be brushing up against Akira, because if you have enough people jammed into a warehouse that they have to squeeze past each other, then you have too many people in the warehouse.

See, it’s all Shindo—the go playing Shindo, that is—all Shindo’s fault. Because he had happened, while he and Akira and Shindo’s horrible little friends were out to lunch, to lean against a wall—because he wanted to look cool and handsome, Akira can only guess—and that wall had had a poster of BAD LUCK plastered up. And then Shindo’s horrible little friend number one, Chief Horrible Friend, Waya, had said, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” as he looked between Shindo’s—the go player—face and the face of the Shindo on the poster.

Now, how Waya had drawn any conclusions just because they were two young obnoxious men named Shindo was lost to Akira, and he never particularly fancied asking—see again, ‘horrible friend’—it might have been that Shindo had said before, “My cousin is coming to town for a concert”, or something else—but the point is that, in a long and convoluted series of events, Shindo invited Akira to the party once that particular cat was out of the bag.

“As your date?” Akira said—most stupidly, really, but Shindo tended to draw the stupid out of him.

“No?” Shindo said, lips twitching into a damnable little smirk and eyebrows doing a strange wave pattern. “I mean, I’m gonna look like a loser if I just show up by myself.”

And, well. They were alone by this point. And Shindo tilted his head back and did his crooked little smile, and his eyes were challenging him, and like hell is Akira will ever, EVER back down from a challenge issued by Shindo Hikaru.

So Akira had said, “Fine,” with a chilly little nose turn.

“Do I pick you up at your house?” Shindo had asked.

“I can make it to at least the train station on my own.”

Then it became a battle for them, because that was the only way they felt comfortable with each other.

When the heat of the moment had worn off and Akira was actually faced with going to a celebrity’s party, though, Akira had felt horribly conspicuous. Shindo—Hikaru, damn it—Hikaru had complained about Akira’s choice of attire the entire way to the party, from the moment he had picked Akira up at the train station to the moment they fell into view of the party itself. (“They’ll all take one look at you and know you must be a geeky little go player, and then they’ll see me with you and know that I’m a geeky little go player, and it will be all your fault, I hope you know.”) Akira supposes he hadn’t taken Hikaru seriously until he actually saw the place and the people. (“What’s wrong with looking like a go player?” he had said coldly. Hikaru worked his jaw and then gave Akira this look, like ‘Really?’)

He had to admit that Hikaru looked nothing like a go player, ever, not even in his suits, but this is probably the first time he looked appropriate for a venue outside of the Young Lion’s Tournament. He had stepped up to the door unquestioned, and the bouncer—god, the party had a bouncer—and the bouncer, instead of glaring at the pair of them like Akira had (nervously) expected him to, had given this trendy little upwards nod, like, ‘Hey man what up?’ and Hikaru had returned it, like, ‘You know what I came for’. And then Hikaru had stepped across the threshold without as much as a stutter, Akira meekly following behind. A boy their age ran into them, turned with a frown, and then smiled politely and embraced Hikaru briefly. Akira’s heart had leapt into his throat. That was a famous person. That was the boy on the BAD LUCK poster. That was… That was… Er…

The name escapes him, but anyway—

Through models and top dog businessmen and waiters with trays Shindo led him, hand closed warmly around his wrist. Akira looked sort of like a less handsome version of said businessmen, but he couldn’t tell if that was because they actually had nicer faces than his or because they were wearing button ups and blazers because they wanted to, not because they were expected to. While Akira was admiring all the beautiful people, a soda somehow ended up in his hand. Hikaru had stopped eventually and pointed (rather rudely) to someone on the stairs, and that person had looked over and pointed back (just as rudely), and they had both yelled in delight, and that’s how Akira has come to be standing, quite awkwardly, next to Japan’s top pop singer, Shindo Shuichi, at said pop singer’s party. In a warehouse. With people bumping into him. Very attractive people.

Just in case you were wondering what the hell Touya Akira is doing at a party at all.  
And he is also not paying a damn word of attention to Shindo Shuichi. It’s the music. How does anyone live through music this loud?

And maybe it is a bit of Shindo Hikaru. He looks very… stylish. And comfortable. And that is kind of distracting. Or very.

Akira does pay attention when Shuichi’s arm is flung across his shoulder, however.

“So, so, Hikaru—” this can’t possibly be the voice of an international singer, but maybe the alcohol has something to do with it “—is he your—is he your this?”

Shuichi sticks out his thumb. Hikaru spits out his soda. Akira ducks and finds somewhere else to be.

Even as he moves further and further away, back again through crowds of long-haired men, one surrounded by ladies admiring his leather jacket, and lolitas and Americans, even over the godawful music blasting, still he can hear the cousins shouting,

“What do you think I am?! I’m not a degenerate like you!”

“What’d you say, asshole?! It’s OKAY to be GAY!”

“Someone has to carry on the Shindo name!”

“Is that your only reason? Closet fag!”

“Fa—…! ”

At some point Akira gets confetti dumped on him. At another a person of unknown gender pinches his butt. At yet another he somehow wanders into the midst of the odd group of rockers. Akira can’t help the startled little jump he makes when the one closest to him swivels his head and stares with white-out contacts. They fall silent and still say nothing as Akira leaves, which is somehow more aggravating than if they had laughed or mocked him. Then he runs into what can only be women of fashion, because they grab at him tipsily and play with his hair and tug at his lapels.

“He looks sweet in lavender!”

“These pants aren’t so good, though.”

“I swear I’ve seen him on TV, but I just can’t place it… Are you on early in the morning or something?”

“Oh my goodness, what do you use on your hair? It’s so thick and soft and…”

He escapes with his life, but also with a Hello Kitty hair clip and some body glitter.

By this time it seems the cousins Shindo have overcome their differences: Akira finds them set up near a very elaborate karaoke set in the back. Shuichi announces karaoke time over the speakers—the guests, mostly musicians, cheer—and then Shuichi says, “Please excuse the screeching of my annoying back up, here!” and Hikaru is heard saying, “I was an A student in choir, you know!”

—and Akira decides that the only viable course of action at this point is to hide.

The awesome thing about hiding in the kitchen, he soon realizes, is that he does not have to feel like an intruder or a nuisance by hunting down a waiter. A cook—or maybe a party like this is all chefs, he feels embarrassed not knowing—a person in the kitchen recognizes him from TV, too, but this person is able to point out that he is the nation’s representative from that international game, even if he doesn’t really follow go and can’t name the tournament. The cook prepares a plate of really fancy finger foods and lets Akira eat it out of the way, in the corner, saying, “The undefeated rep deserves it.”

Akira did not expect, though, to have company. Akira has the same feeling he’s had all night—that this is definitely some sort of famous person he should know the name of, but he can’t connect name and face for the life of him. What he does know is that the man has no qualms blowing cigarette smoke right in his face and that his oddly-colored eyes rank in the top tiers of intimidation that Akira has ever been subject to. Akira holds his ground without so much as a cough. One corner of the man’s mouth curls into a mean little grin.

“Are you hiding, too?” the man asks eventually, voice flat and sharp. Smoke pours from between his teeth and disappears into the dark of the high ceilings.

“From Shindo,” Akira responds tersely. Then he remembers where he is and also that he was raised to be politer than this and hastily adds, “Shindo Hikaru. The go player. Not the singer. The singer’s cousin.”

The man laughs lowly. “Me too.”

“…from the go player?”

“No. The singer. The go player’s cousin.”

Akira thinks he might be getting made fun of. He doesn’t like it. He licks his teeth in his indignation and considers what he might be able to get away with without getting into a whole lot of trouble—

“Eiri-san, I’ve been looking for you! –oh, who’s this?”

The man who has come looking for this person named ‘Eiri’ is finally someone Akira can put a name to, and he tries not to choke on his mini sausage. Seguchi Touma, head of N-G and Nittle Grasper’s keyboardist, takes off his little hat and smiles at Akira very sweetly. Akira blushes hard, trying futilely to not look like a total fool in front of this man as he makes desperate gulps to clear his throat—

“This is Touya Akira,” the man named Eiri says, crushing his cigarette stub against a wall and then throwing it over his shoulder.

Akira’s eyebrows jump into his bangs. He didn’t expect—

“Touya… oh, no, I know this, it’s on the tip of my tongue…” Seguchi sighs, tapping his cheek with an elegantly gloved finger.

“Go,” Eiri—oh hell, Akira remembers, this is Shindo Shuichi’s boyfriend, that romance novelist his mom reads, Yuki Eiri—Yuki reminds Seguchi shortly.

“Oh yes!” Seguchi exclaims brightly, making a little ‘aha!’ gesture with his hands. “There’s a father and son go playing duo named Touya! So, you’re the son, then? The son of Touya Meijin?”

Akira begins to open his mouth to correct Seguchi as politely as possible, but Yuki beats him to it once again. He says, “Touma, Touya Kouyo retired over a year ago by now. He’s no longer the Meijin. And anyway, isn’t it a little rude to define Touya-sensei in front of us, a great player in his own right, as merely the ‘son’ of someone who is no longer even a professional?”

Akira looks down, willing his stupid blush to go away. Yuki Eiri is at once flattering and embarrassing to Akira, and he isn’t sure how to react to such wildly conflicting feelings towards the man. Thank him for the compliments? Or indignantly rebuff him for his tone and attitude and the hint of derisiveness towards Akira’s father?

“Oh, excuse me, Touya-sensei,” Seguchi apologizes smoothly, bowing a little. Akira ducks his head again. He hates the feeling of being cowed by these two men. Since when does he so meekly let the conversation be run for him?

“It’s fine,” is all he can think to say, though, and while he tries to pull up something interesting to say and comes up blank, Yuki turns as if to dismiss Seguchi and addresses him.

“This is a perfect excuse. Sensei, would you mind playing a teaching game with me?”  
Akira stares.

“That way we can both ditch our respective Shindo boy. Sound like a good exchange?”  
Akira latches onto him like a man drowning. Except without the unmanly floundering and physical contact.

Later that night as Akira, Yuki Eiri, and Seguchi Touma all sit around a folding go board in Yuki’s spacious apartment, and they have all commiserated with Akira about being invited to a party and then dumped, and Akira has patiently explained to disbelieving faces that no, Hikaru is not his boyfriend—Akira’s phone lights up with Hikaru’s name and picture.

Akira reaches for it angrily. Yuki stops him.

“Don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have to leave them hanging sometimes.”

“You’re the expert, I suppose.”

Akira takes them to midgame.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You Look Familiar...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/722556) by [elarielf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elarielf/pseuds/elarielf)




End file.
